


Tale of Mountains Cold

by dragonkite



Series: Tale of Mountains Cold [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Related, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character(s), Protectiveness, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonkite/pseuds/dragonkite
Summary: A (buff and strikingly handsome) mercenary and assassin is hired for what's supposed to be one last, easy-peasy job. Simple, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong. Did you forget legends fly the skies now, or that the dead stalk the living in every form? Nothing is ever so simple. Nothing was Ever so simple. Now you're up to your neck (literally) and at a crossroads.Choose.





	1. The Argonian Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to AO3. If I have somehow made a mistake in my tags or anything else, let me know. And if you need anything tagged, tell me that too. This fic is based on an RP with someone dear to me, and I dedicate it to them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This man is an idiot. An enormous, giant idiot.

Iesra tested her pack; the new books wouldn’t slow her down too much. The smell of dirt, horses, and cold mountain air stung her lungs. Old snow lay browned and trodden on the ground. There wasn’t much daylight left. A few hours, maybe. Wouldn’t be long before a fresh layer fell. Hopefully there was enough time to get to the next town, bed down for the night.

There was enough to worry about _without_ the giant lizard man following her. What was he playing at? Did he think she wouldn’t notice his hulking, lumbering form? Even without heavy armor he was loud. Too loud. That giant hammer and bow of his made so much noise… If he was an assassin he was a _foolish_ one.

Iesra picked up the pace and went off road. If the oaf was simply going in the same direction as she, there would be no reason to follow her into the woods. Confident she was out of the man’s line of sight, Iesra left her books at the base of a tree and climbed up, up, watching and waiting. She knocked an arrow. Snow began to fall.

The hulking lizard came into view. He made no effort to hide his presence, no attempt at stealth. What an arrogant tool… Look at him, swaggering with the confidence of a young Jarl. Whether his red feathers were dyed or natural, they made him look all the more like a tool.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey! Little…person! With the books! I know you’re here! You seen a mage around? Kinda small?”

Once—just _once_ it would be nice to _not_ be stalked. Iesra snapped a stick off the branch she clung to and flung it down at the dragon man. It hit him in the face, but he did not flinch.

He looked up. “Ow. Hey! There you are. How’d you get up there that quick? Anyways, seen a mage fella or nah? Kinda short, around your height…”

The big man waited for a response, but Iesra refused to move. The huge dragon sighed, sagging a little, and something caught his attention—Iesra’s books. You stay away from those! Iesra snapped more sticks off the branch and hurled them down at the man, each plinking off his leather armor. Iesra leapt down from branch to branch.

She landed between the brute and her books. Gods—! Look at him. Even bigger up close! Iesra puffed her chest out and signed at him, “Stay away.”

The big man squinted, looking between the books and Iesra. He gestured and said, “Out of curiosity, where’d you get all those? I haven’t seen any bookshops around.”

“None of your business.” Iesra stared daggers, hoping her intent was clear.

“Right, right, of course… I’ll be on my way now.”

He sauntered off. To a tree. And hid behind it. As if Iesra couldn’t fucking see him plain as day. Iesra hefted the books, turned on her heel and ran, finally allowing herself to panic a little. Holy _gods_ , holy _shit_ how could anyone be that _huge?_ How big was he? Seven and a half, eight feet? What the hell? What the _fuck_? He was _following_ her that whole time? How did Iesra not notice _sooner?!_

Iesra tripped over a root—just in time for a huge arrow bolt to whizz over her and embed itself in a tree with a powerful _thunk._

Iesra stared at the arrow. That son of a _bitch!_ Not here, not now, not _again!_ Still on the ground, Iesra loosed three arrows at the brute. One missed—the other two he _slammed out of the air_ with a _dagger._

Iesra scrambled to her feet and loosed another arrow, making sure to light it aflame this time. The arrow stuck in his armor. Iesra ran, ran as hard and as fast as she could, turning to fire arrows occasionally. The brute dodged them, hiding behind trees as he ran like some kind of— _weird feathered rabbit_. What the hell was his _problem?!_

Iesra could not keep running much longer—she dropped her bag and pulled out her short sword to face him, grim and white-knuckled. The big scaly _asshole_ looked at Iesra with a curious eye. He stood tall, confident. Cocky. But he wasn’t bluffing. The stupid dragon man drew a sword from the scabbard at his side, slow and deliberate.

“Hey, so uh... My name’s Valdr, and I’m kinda here to kill you. My employers are idiots and I don’t feel good about this. Actually having second thoughts even now.”

Iesra stared at him, wanting to sign to him some sort of expletive, but instead she simply lit her sword ablaze. She wasn’t giving the books up, and she wasn’t dying in a forest where no one would care or find her bones until after the next big snow. Iesra pointed the blazing sword at Valdr and dragged her foot in the dirt.

This line.

If he crossed this line, she’d smack the shit out of him.

Valdr stared at the line, then at the sword. “With the life I’ve lived, I’m betting I’m about to make a mistake.” Valdr lunged, aiming for a thrust to the heart.

No giant, dumb, muscle-bound _asshole_ was going to stab Iesra—not before she stabbed him first! Iesra parried the strike, but even with a short sword and not the giant hammer at his back, Valdr put his full weight behind the strike. Iesra’s hand stung. Valdr swiped again and again—each hit barely dodged or parried, and each hit numbing Iesra’s already cold hands.

Iesra knocked the last strike aside and conjured a wavering shield—gods she was tired—hoping there was enough focus to block the strike. It was—barely. The thrust pierced the shield with ease, but the strike veered away from Iesra. Valdr kept attacking. Each hit glanced off the shimmering shield with a crack and a flash. But on the last swipe, Valdr’s blade wavered, glowed, and splattered against a tree in a mess of melted goo.

Valdr held up the steaming hilt of his blade and stared at it. “Damn! Hotter than a forge!”

Foolish man! Iesra lunged and aimed for his exposed throat—but she was too short to reach. The blade sunk into Valdr’s leather armor and went no further. Valdr laughed.

"Holy shit, you’ve got _spunk!_ ” Valdr lifted a tree trunk of a leg and kicked at Iesra. The blow shattered her flimsy shield drove her into a tree. Iesra’s sword, still aflame, fell into the ground point first.

What an _asshole!_ Iesra lunged for the blade and took in both hands, swinging for the walking shit-mountain’s legs.

Valdr jumped over the blade with a shout and landed on the balls of his feet. For a giant mountain of _dicks_ he was pretty agile. Iesra rolled away, sword almost slipping out of her grasp. She signed at him with one hand, knowing the giant oaf likely didn’t understand her, but at least she could still insult him.

“You’ll regret trying to bulldoze me in the _fucking_ woods you son of a bitch.”

Valdr grinned. “You’re right. My mother _was_ a bitch.” Valdr lunged and lashed out with the small weapon.

Iesra channeled magic into her gnarled left arm, power and flame snapping to life. She evaded a clumsy strike and slammed her palm into his arm. If Iesra weren’t so fucking tired that would have snapped _bone_.

Valdr snarled like some kind of _beast_ and struck again. Iesra evaded the monster, struck his groin, and rolled between his legs. She was tired but he was slow. Iesra could outrun him no problem. She ran for her books—only for Valdr to bring down his giant warhammer in front of her with a terrible shout. The strike blew up mounds of snow and dirt.

“Now you’re getting on my nerves!”

“Oh, I’m getting on _your_ nerves? At least I didn’t stalk you and try to murder you!”

“I wasn’t stalking you!” Iesra dodged a powerful blow. If Iesra were any slower she would have been paste. She blasted Valdr with another spell—this one launching him into a tree.

Now! Iesra grabbed her books and ran. But the _fucking stupid dragon man_ shouted like a _Nord_ and spewed a jet of flame. Iesra backpedaled away from the sudden wall of flame that sprung up on the damp, rotting earth. Valdr picked up his dagger.

“Nowhere to run, little mage!”

Correct. Iesra channeled magic into her left arm and swung it downwards, pushing the energy into the earth. Roots sprung up like tentacles around Valdr’s legs.

Valdr yelled and hacked away at the roots in a sudden panic. “Gah! Gross! They’re like—snakes! Worms!”

Iesra huffed. They were _not_ gross!

Valdr shouted again when the roots pulled him further into the ground. He kept cutting and cutting, but it wasn’t enough. The roots wrapped around his wrists and climbed higher around his legs. Valdr dropped the dagger and swore.

“I knew it—I knew this was a mistake! Also, daggers are useless and have zero meaning in _any_ context!” Valdr tried to breathe more fire at the roots, but it did little. The fire sputtered and died and he panted, apparently out of energy.

Iesra stood in front of him and signed, “Daggers are useful. You’re just big and stupid.”

“Yeah useful for gutting rabbits, maybe!” Valdr sighed. “Look, I could _easily_ break free of this, because _clearly_ I’m huge and strong as _fuck,_ but as a gesture of good faith I won’t. I’m out of arrows and my hands are tied anyway. Plus you’re small. You’ll just dodge.”

While the scaly dick-mountain spoke, Iesra strafed around him, picking up her fallen sword and sheathing it. She moved back to his front, pulling up her hood.

“Who sent you to stab me? You are underprepared. I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, I’m in a tight spot financially.” The roots kept growing, pulling Valdr further in. “As for who sent me, it was some shady assholes, all in robes. Don’t know who they are.”

“Stop following me or I’ll chop your stupid head off.”

Iesra hefted her bag and turned to leave, not wanting to mess around with a giant dragon-person today anymore. With the adrenaline wearing off, cold, heavy exhaustion seeped into her bones again. She needed a glass of wine and a goddamn nap.

Before she got too far Valdr called out, “They aren’t going to stop, you know.”

What a weirdo… He must have found her a town or two back. Iesra would have to choose her sleeping locations a little more carefully.

“Hey! Wait up! I’m trying to make a counter proposal to get them—and me—off your back!” Valdr struggled against the roots. “I’m not trying to be dramatic here—they _aren’t_ going to stop—they have a lot of manpower and a lot of money to get _more_ manpower!”

Iesra stopped, turning on her heel a bit to give him an exhausted glare, grimacing and wrinkling her nose for good measure. She was listening.

“I appreciate the chance to talk. I’ll keep it short. I’m not a dumbass—I was paying attention to who hired me, but they went through extra trouble to hide their identity. But they’re Nord cultists.”

Fire crackled in Iesra’s palm.

“Hey, see? Knew you wouldn’t like that. But they want _you_ dead and want you dead yesterday. And I’m sick of going after small fry just to lick table scraps. So. Counterproposal: let’s fuckin’ kill ‘em and take their shit.”

Iesra stared at him. Small fry? What a fucking asshole—if anyone was the small fry it was _him_ , hitting her so hard with his dumb weapon it got all smashed.

“You have the smallest brain in the world. Why would I let you come anywhere near me?”

Valdr flinched a little. He chose his next words more carefully. Slowly. Good. He knew he was at her mercy. “When I say…small fry. I mean literally small. Listen, if these guys want you dead that bad, then you must have some kind of power behind you, right? You’re a threat.”

Correct.

“But not like you are right now. Look at you. You’re exhausted. Could you defend yourself if someone else came after you? No. So let me be your guard. Sure, I might try to attack you. But I could also not. If you don’t believe me, I’ll follow behind you. Far enough for you to run away from me if I chase you.”

“That’s also dumb. Being a guard means staying close, not stabbing me. You really _are_ dumb.” Iesra signed _slooowly_ to emphasize her point. “They’re mad I stole some books. That’s all.”

Iesra refused to say more. Those books were better off in her hands than theirs, and that’s all that mattered. Iesra narrowed her eyes a bit and took a couple steps towards him, signing again.

“I could defend myself just fine. Look at you! You’re halfway sucked down into the mud. Give it another twenty minutes and you’ll be up to your neck in it.”

“You’re right. I just tried to kill you. You have no reason to trust me.” Now the roots were pulling him further in, wrapping around his arms. A moment of silence passed and a note of desperation crept into Valdr’s voice and he squirmed. Yelled.

But then he stopped. Valdr stopped struggling, staring at the roots pulling him deeper and deeper into the ground. His shoulders sagged. “A mistake. This—this was more than a mistake. This… This is it, huh? Oh, man. I’m really gonna die here. Everything I’ve fought—and _this_ is what kills me!”

“Will you shut up. Everyone dies. Get over it.”

“I—I can’t. I really, truly can’t. Wait, please. If you’re going to leave me to die, I have one request. In my bag is a sealed letter with an address on it. It’s...it’s for my kids. They’re with an old friend. I need you to deliver it to them. Please. They deserve to know their father is dead.”

Iesra stared hard at him. He didn’t _seem_ dishonest. She looked over to the tree Valdr first hid behind. A huge fur pack lay in the dirt and snow. Iesra crept over to it, extending her senses to probe the bag for magical traps. Nothing. She searched the bag. Looked to be filled with useless junk. Materials and bottles and sticks and weird smelling _gunk_ …

Except for the hilt of something wrapped in leather. _That_ was not junk. Iesra pulled the blade out and unsheathed it partially. She stared at the strange knife. Black, darker than ebony. Strange runes covered the scabbard and gleaming metal. Silver that seemed to move. Almost glow. Iesra looked back at Valdr and waved it a little.

“Family heirloom. It’s all that’s left of them, besides me, not that it matters. I don’t know where it’s from. But’s it’s the only weapon I’ve seen that can easily cut through my scales. You can try it on me if you want. I can’t really do anything to you now anyway.”

“Keeping it.”

Iesra slid the blade into her belt. Never knew when she’d have to defend herself against a giant dragon stalker again… She rummaged through the bag a little more. Iesra didn’t expect this guy to be a father… Let alone have a letter ready for whenever he died… Wasn’t that a little extreme? He must be some sort of big mercenary then, someone who had been doing this a while. Or a soldier.

“I gotta say. Being stolen _from_ is a fresh change of pace. Usually I’m the one doing the stealing. Ha. It’s like looting a corpse before it’s died...” Valdr laughed, weakly. “What goes around comes around, right?”

Iesra stood in place, staring at the letter. None of this felt _right_ … “I don’t trust you. How many kids?”

“Four. Two big ones—Sofie and Lucia. Both teenagers. And two little ones. Belgabad and Undomiel, ages four and seven respectively. Belgabad’s kinda small, so I call him Bean. Undomiel goes by Umi.” Life seeped back into his voice. “Oh! Wait, look in the very back pocket! There’s some drawings of them! I hired a professional to do some portraits, but Green Bean did the scribbly ones. Aren’t they cute?”

Iesra opened the pack, tugging up the parchment. Valdr wasn’t lying. Iesra held up a portrait of a small, green Argonian child with a shock of feathers as red as his father’s. There was another child holding Bean, an older girl with bronzed scales and toned muscles. Her feathers were oddly pink, growing redder near the ends. On the back were names in fluid calligraphy—Umi and Green Bean.

Behind those, more drawings—the ones Bean made. Crude, childish sketches. A smiling tower of round muscles held a tiny baby. He also held the hand of a small Argonian child, and a golden Argonian woman stood by Valdr. Little names were scrawled beneath each person. _Mee and daddah, Ummi,_ and _Mamma_.

There were more drawings portraits. A sad looking Imperial girl with strong features posing with an old dwarven bow. A small, angry Nord girl who looked almost feral. Like she was more comfortable in the woods, or a cave. And Bean drew them, too. They huddled over his small frame, protective. _Loosha, Soffee, mee._

And beneath it all, an official looking, sealed letter. The kind of letter you pay a government official for. Sealed with wax, along with an address. The Bee and Barb, in Riften. But there was a shadow mark on it. A diamond with a circle inside. Thieves’ Guild.

And…more letters. To Valdr. Some in elegant writing. Some in childish scrawl. Some smooth and even. Some choppy and harsh.

Iesra’s hands shook. Her throat hurt. Tears blurred the writing—not that she wanted to read it. This wasn’t right. _None_ of this was right. She placed the drawings—and the letters—back in the pack, making sure they weren’t harmed. She stared a moment more, patted at them, walked back to Valdr, eyeing him closely.

“If I let you go, I keep the knife. And you can’t leave unless I die. _And_ you can’t try doing that yourself or I’ll freeze the blood in your entire body with just a touch. I mean it.”

What the hell? Valdr was _crying?_ “Yes!” Valdr shouted. “Yes! I agree! Take the knife! Take whatever you want! Just don’t kill me! _Please._ Not yet. Not like this. I won’t attack you. _I promise._ I swear—I swear on my kids, I swear by my forge—I know how little that means to you but...I can’t leave my kids. I won’t jeopardize my life!”

Iesra stared at him for a long while, a couple minutes maybe, searching his weird lizard face before moving her gnarled hand in a cutting motion. The roots pushed Valdr’s legs out of the earth, gurgling muddy noises squelching until he was released. Iesra took quite a few steps back from him and his bag, tugging her cloak around herself a bit more, not wanting to stick too close to him right now. She kept forgetting how _big_ he was.

“Listen. I don’t—I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t know if I ever _can._ ” Valdr got on his knees, bowing his head into the mud. “Thank you. Thank you. So much. I owe you my life. I owe you— _everything._ ”

Iesra lifted his head up so he could see her sign. “Get up. Now. Don’t thank me.” Iesra’s sweaty little hand gripped the knife hard. Please. Just stand.

Valdr nodded enthusiastically, slapped the mud off his armor, trotted over to his bag. He took out the drawings of his children and stared for a good while before kissing them softly. His eyes…softened. Gleamed with tears and…and love.

Iesra tore her eyes away before they started burning. Her guts soured. If there was anything in her she’d have thrown it all up. She clutched at her wrapped arm. She didn’t look up until Valdr patted at her arm.

“I never asked your name before trying to murder you—sorry about that by the way. Who are you?”

She hesitated, peeling her fingers away from her arm.

“I-E-S-R-A”

“Iesra... Iesra? Am I pronouncing that right? Cute name. Do you have a sign name?”

“…Why would I have a sign name?”

“I mean…someone must have given you one, right?”

“No.”

“I don’t have one either. No one to give me one.” Iesra winced internally. “So. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my new employer. Where to, boss? Find a town? Make camp so we don’t freeze to death? I got a double bed tent if you wanna camp.”

“Tired. Cold. Hungry.” Iesra grunted and pulled her cloak tighter. “I wanted to get to the next town over to get far away from people like you, but now if I started walking, I wouldn’t be able to get there.”

Valdr drummed his fingers on his armor. “So uh... How do you feel about horses?”

Iesra stared at him. “What horse? Do you see a horse? There’s no fucking horse here.”

“No. Not yet.” Valdr pulled a Nordic horn out of his bag and blew a loud peal into the twilight. Shimmering blue lights slowly formed and coalesced…into a horse?

“Iesra, this is Eldi. Eldi, this is Iesra.”

“This is a daedra.”

“Yeah, but she’s safe, I promise.”

“That’s a _daedra._ Look. Look at her _eyes_. Look at her _barding. That’s a daedra._ ”

“Okay, look—fine. Eldi is a daedric horse, okay? But she’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s never let me down. Ever. Unless you wanna make camp, we’re gonna freeze if we don’t ride.”

“ ** _Daedra._** ”

“Look, I trust her. If it makes you feel safer, keep the knife at my chest or throat or something.” Valdr mimicked holding a knife to his throat. “Also, offer still stands to test the knife on me. Just do it quick—longer we’re out here the better the chance of running into a giant or having a mammoth fall on us from the sky.”

Iesra moved a bit closer to him, refusing to step anywhere nearer. “That’s stupid. Your daedra is stupid. This is stupid. You could just rip it out of my hands if you tried hard enough.”

She swayed. Iesra tied and pinned her cloak closed to stay warm in the rapidly cooling air, waiting for him to make a move. Would he pick her up and put her on his back so she had to hang on? He was a stranger and a murderer even if he _did_ have kids, so she wasn’t sure what to do in this situation.

Iesra felt her knees wobble a bit. So cold… So…tired… Before she could fall, Valdr’s stupid strong arms caught her. The barely—just barely—remembered being lifted onto Eldi, Valdr’s warmth pressing into her back and surrounding her.

Then—nothing.


	2. Prologue: Stab This Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See this guy? Go stab him.

Should Valdr tear the letters apart, or toss them to the tavern’s flames? The damned bards playing some song about heroic exploits—which happened to be his—did not fit his souring mood.

A painfully well-rendered drawing showed Valdr being eviscerated by Morticia and Ender. His corpse crowned a mountain of skulls of all kinds. Troll. Giant. Human. Beastfolk. Elven. Dragon. Ender must have lost sight of the message, because at the end he drew himself becoming god of the world, standing atop the bones of Alduin himself. He of course, also claimed Alduin’s skull.

Ender was getting pretty damn good at art. Mo should really send him to an art school, not keep him in the Brotherhood. The world had enough killers. They needed more creative minds to drive society, break boundaries or whatever. Not that Skyrim had any art schools. Maybe those yahoos at the college? No, no. Terrible idea.

In any case the message was clear. The price for leaving was Valdr’s head. And also Ender was gonna be a god, apparently.

Sure, after Aurora--no, _Cuaroc_ , betrayed everyone and murderized most of the original Brotherhood, it was totally fair for loyalty to be valued. That’s fine. But why not _ensure_ loyalty somehow? Magic bound blood oaths were a thing, right? And the whole shadowy mystique thing? How much of their organization was purely aesthetic and drama?

_What is the color of the night?_

_Sanguine, my brother._

Ooo the _night_ is _red!_ We get it. We’re assassins. We kill people. In the shadows. It’s literally in the organization’s name. This is, as Valdr’s bardic buddies would say, rhetorical tautology.

But Mo would have to get in line. A long list of enemies wanted Valdr dead. Five flavors of cultists. The goddamn Blades. Fuckin’ Cuaroc. Because apparently that creepy bitch didn’t know how to stay dead. And anyone who met Cuaroc—if they still lived—would agree that’s not misogyny. Everyone wanted a piece of him, including goddamn dragons. Sooner Valdr could stop posing as a mercenary the better. This armor smelled like Nord.

Valdr slid the letters into his pack, next to the ones from his family, and drained his drink. They were watching. Still.

“Stop skulking in the shadows already and tell me what you want.”

Silence.

“I can smell the blood on you. You’ve been watching me since I sat down.”

“Your senses are sharp, Argonian…” Two figures in black, hooded robes slipped out of the shadows. One taller than the other. Both slim. Their voices were low, seeming to slither out of their hoods. Drama queens.

Valdr sat up straighter, crossing his arms. “You don’t survive the life I’ve lived by being dumb and reckless. I’ll ask again—what do you want? Y’all Brotherhood? Cultists?”

The tall one stepped closer. A bit of yellow beard poked out from under the hood. Nords. “Something like that… Are you the mercenary known as Hammerscale?”

“Maybe. Why? Want my autograph?” Good. They didn’t seem to know who Valdr _actually_ was. 

“For a contract, yes.”

“Two hundred septims is my base rate. Give me details, and we can settle on any necessary compensation. Half upfront, half upon completion of the contract. Sound good?”

The other fellow, the shorter of the two, pulled out a sack of coins and opened it, a wicked grin peeling open his face. “A thousand septims up front. No questions.”

Valdr whistled, pocketing the coin. “Shady. Right up my alley.”

“Your target is a small Breton man… Choppy, copper hair. Rather grumpy. A mage. And a _thief._ He was last seen passing through this town. Eliminate him, and bring us the _books_ he carries.” Next to him, shorty nearly vibrated with excitement.

“ _Whoa—_ hold up. You want me to kill someone?”

“No questions!”

“I haven’t _signed_ anything yet. I’ll ask what I want.”

Shorty hissed at the other. “Brother! You forgot the blood oath!”

“ _Silence, fool!_ It will be fine!” Big man cleared his throat. Amateurs, the both of them. “ _Yes_ , we want you to kill someone. _More_ importantly—we want the _books_ this Breton carries. _Those_ take priority!”

“You realize the Dark Brotherhood would be better suited for this job, right?”

Shorty butted in. “The _Brotherhood_ cannot be _trusted_. You on the other hand, _can_.”

Ha. “Fine. Know the target’s habits, skills, personal quirks?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

Yes. “Not at all. Time limit?”

“Three days, maximum,” said the tall one. “There is a bonus, for work done handily in a timely manner—particularly if you bring us his hands. And his head.”

“And the reward is?”

“One hundred thousand septims."

“No, no!” cried shorty. “ _Five_ hundred thousand septims! _If_ you bring me his _body_ intact… It _must_ be intact!”

Erugh. Gross. “Fine. I’ll meet you back here in three day’s time.”

He stood from the table, towering over the little Nord cultists. This sounded fishy as hell, and they were probably going to stab Valdr in the back, but a job’s a job.

Note to self: once he got paid, kill these fuckers next. 


End file.
